I don’t have an Easter Sunday recap for you with pictures of me in a cute dress. Sorry I’m not sorry.
After running 12 miles (WOO?), I spent the rest of the day on the couch and it was all I dreamed it could be and more.
I ran slow FOR ME. (Turns out, you have to put “for me” after everything disparaging you say about yourself so people who suck even more than you do won’t be offended by your remarks.) I stopped and took water breaks, I fiddled with my ipod, I even went home to pee once (off the clock, obviously). I’d say the only real pushing I did was actually finishing the 12 miles.
I turned the corner to my house at 8.68 just as my ipod died, and almost called it quits right there. But then I realized I’d have to blog about my failure (because you HAVE to blog about everything you do, that’s just the rules), so I chomped another couple of GUs, tossed the defunct pod on the porch and wobbled down the driveway to do another 3.32.
And you know what? It really wasn’t that bad. I think I was hurting more the FIRST three miles. My last mile was my fastest.
So there’s really only one benefit to running as slow as I do: no soreness or fatigue afterward. My quads are a little tender today, but I’m none the worse for wear. (Yeah but seriously, if someone can tell me what was wrong with my legs for those first three miles, why they felt both dead and achy at the same time and what to do about it, I will be eternally grateful.)
Monday night is yoga night.